


And The Parched Will Drink Venom

by Cazio



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Dark, F/M, M/M, Oneshot, Thor 2, Thorki - Freeform, Thunderfrost - Freeform, the usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 21:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cazio/pseuds/Cazio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki has won. But victory comes with the taste of blood in his mouth and a poison in his chest more potent than hate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And The Parched Will Drink Venom

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't seen the Thor 2 trailer, then this could potentially spoil things for you, so be warned.  
> There's certainly a trend in my thorki fics, isn't there? ;)

He has forgotten how long it takes to clothe himself in armor. Of course, he could use magic, it doesn’t seem quite right. Too easy. Too simple. Besides, buckling each and every clasp by the movements of his own fingers gives this moment some sort of symbolism. But Loki is not foolish enough to think he is free. Not even if he saved Thor’s life, saved his precious Jane, and ended the war would he be free.  Odin might allow him to leave this prison, but his brother will not. Thor knows that no matter what good he does, there is always evil. There is always chaos.

He tugs at his cloak to make sure it is fitted properly and takes another look at himself in the dusty mirror in his old bedchamber. A million times he has looked in this mirror and never has he looked so weak. His skin is a soft ivory that conveys sickness, his eyes are red-rimmed from staring at nothing for hours on end, and there is his hair. His hair is a disheveled mess of greasy black, as though freshly painted on with an ink quill. He doesn’t dare disgust himself and run his fingers through it, for the very sight is enough to make him curl his lip in disgust. So, as his first display of magic, he snaps his fingers and his hair returns to a healthy sheen, but it is still too curly. Unkempt. Unkingly

There’s a knock at the door and then Thor is behind him, looking him over in the mirror. Loki straightens and tips his chin up a little, though he is not some object for Thor to appraise.  His brother has changed much—now he carries himself like a king and he even sounds different. Where once was affection buried beneath that throaty roar, now there is only sadness. Loki purses his lips, then flinches away when calloused hands grip his hair.

“I only mean to braid it,” Thor says as he grabs for Loki’s hair again.

“You will not touch me,” he snaps with a voice drenched in venom that has spent the last year fermenting in his mouth.

Instead of insisting as he has always done, Thor drops his hands. “Then you are ready to depart.”

Loki nods once and a damned swath of ebony covers his right eye when he does so. With a curse, he runs his fingers through his hair until he can see again. His brother is already out of the room and doesn’t look back to make sure he is following. For a moment Thor’s shadow appears smaller, as it did when they were children and walking through the palace was abhorred because who in their right mind walked anywhere when they could run or skip or chase? Certainly not the princes of Asgard.

 Loki is tempted to flee, but like a moth to a flame, he follows. Of all the things he thought his brother would do when he was out of prison, this was the only one Loki had never considered. Thor did not seem to care whether he was well or not—not once did he ask anything stupid or touch him or embrace him. He is merely a tool, something to be utilized and returned to the cell once this ordeal was over with. There was no talk of redemption this time, not even a halfhearted attempt at reason. Loki clenches his jaw and lifts his chin, determined to carry himself like the prince he is. The king he should be.

 

 

And so Jane foster had been poisoned. Well, her mind had been poisoned. She is raving mad, spewing garbled words and attacking things that did not exist. None of Loki’s magic could do anything to alter the spell except taking away her voice so that at least she spoke without volume. But Loki is more interested in his brother. Thor had Jane bound to a chair to try and speak reason to her without being clawed in the face (which had already happened three times). His cerulean eyes are soft and gentle, still pools of blue that invited her to join him. To come back.

The same eyes Loki had spent the past five years pretending didn’t affect him.

But now they are for Jane and Jane alone. Thor speaks to her in gentle murmurs while she struggles, fondly touching her neck or rubbing her arm when she quiets. And by the gods, it’s working. She gradually stops trying to scream and curse and instead stares blankly at Thor, following his movements with dead pupils.

“Are we ready to leave now?” Loki asks in a bland tone.

Thor turns to him and he is close to flinching because of how furious Thor’s eyes have become. Loki has certainly seen Thor angry before—he has seen him furious enough to attack Laufey without hesitation. But that level of anger has never been directed at him, not even when they fought on the Bifrost or in Midgard. But Loki holds his brother’s gaze with a cool one of his own.

“We will leave when she is ready,” Thor growls.

“The longer we wait, the deeper root the spell with take,” Loki reminds him, sparing a glance in the woman’s direction. Her hair is not curly, nor is her skin a sickly white. She is beautiful, with honey-glazed skin, full lips, and sleek brunette locks that so many Midgardian women have. Even under the spell Loki can tell she is beautiful. He moves his jaw and looks to the floor when Thor kisses her forehead. Soon enough, she is unbound and Thor is helping her toward the palace doors without so much as a word.

Loki begins to doubt that his brother’s threat was as empty as he had thought.

 

 

Cold northern winds slice through his armor and he feels as though he is in Jotunheim. Of course, now he knows why cold has never bothered him much, but this cold is borne of darkness and bites even Jotun skin.  He could no longer stand watching the way Thor holds Jane so close to him or how his brother murmurs in her ear that everything will be all right, so he moves to the lead. Jane will not be all right. She will die before they find the source of the darkness.

Loki clutches his arm both out of cold and out of pain. Dark Elf daggers repel the use of healing magic, so the cut on his forearm is still bleeding. Thor doesn’t seem to notice nor care and that is fine with Loki.

Soon the cold becomes too much and Jane is too weak to continue. Loki watches passively as Thor selects a cave to sleep in, first illuminating it with a bolt of lightning to see if there are any foul creatures living inside. As he checks, Loki finds himself standing closest to the cave, but isn’t sure whether Thor has planned it that way. Regardless, he finds himself in harm’s way with no brother stepping in front of him to protect him. Loki protects himself now, just as he has so often claimed that he wanted to do. But it feels empty and his hands prickle like when he stared down an icy cavern in Jotunheim, watching Thor’s blue eyes fill with tears as Odin rushed to save his golden son. All Loki remembers now is watching Thor look over the icy wasteland with a smug pride and then his hands pushing and Thor falling and screaming and warriors shoving him back as they rushed to save the Odinson.

They start a fire and Thor removes his cloak to cover his sweet Jane while she sleeps. Loki’s eyes reflect the flame and his body relaxes in some attempt to relieve the pressure. The atmosphere is heavy enough for him to feel his very blood pushing through his heart with each slow thud. He wills it to stop, just to see if maybe that would wipe the wretched concern from Thor’s face. He is jealous and he hates himself for it.

“I never thought you would ever be so enamored with a mortal,” Loki says quietly. When Thor spoke of this Midgardian woman, he had thought she was just like every other woman to him—an object of pleasure. A plaything. “Especially one that didn’t adore you the second you appeared to her.”

Before he knows what’s happening, there is an explosion of pain in his left temple. He is tossed like a ragdoll from the force of the punch and his skull cracks against the stone wall of the cave. A gasp leaves his throat, one made out of pure shock and surprise as he tries to regain his bearings.

“Do not speak of her like that again,” Thor snarls and it takes Loki several moments to realize that it was indeed Thor’s voice and not that of a demon.

But Thor is paying attention to him again and Loki has been starved of it. As much as he despises himself for craving the attention of his idiot of a brother, a smirk crosses now-bloody lips.

“Perhaps you misunderstood me. I merely meant that it was surprising that you decided to chase after a whore.”

His brother tackles him into a pile of rock and one of the pieces smashes through the back of his ribcage with a loud crunch. Loki’s pupils turn to tiny dots on green and a little gasp escapes his lips, but he is watching Thor for some trace of guilt. Instead he finds rage.

“I intend to wed her. If you speak ill of the Queen of Asgard—“

But Loki begins to laugh before Thor can finish. It is a sick and twisted sound wrought of anguish and malice toward the woman lying on the floor in front of him. This mortal has known his brother’s contact for not even a month’s time, yet now she is to be wed to him?

“And the brother you spent an eternity with, what of him?” He has to know, even though in asking the question he has made himself vulnerable.

Thor’s lips are a breath away from his and suddenly emerald eyes fill with tears, though Loki pretends they are borne of laughter. So close he has come to tasting that warm skin, but he has never been able to bring himself to do so. Surely Thor would be the first to act on impulse should he want to kiss him and never before has it occurred.

The mighty king smiles. For a moment Loki’s eyes widen with relief and a smile begins on his lips, but then Thor’s smile is gone and with it all of Loki’s short-lived happiness.

“My brother fell from the Bifrost and never returned.”

A snarl manifested on Loki’s mouth and his fingers clawed into Thor’s throat. But then his arms wrap around his brother’s neck instead and he is burying his face into Thor’s chest in a silent, desperate plea for some semblance of love. For something that wasn’t this ridiculous hatred that he knew in his heart was well founded. An apology is dancing on his tongue but he can’t do it. He can’t.

Thor’s hands gently pry him off and there is a glimmer of something in his eyes that Loki hopes is forgiveness, but he no longer remembers what that looks like. Calloused hands cup his face and a shaky breath escapes Loki’s lips that he curses himself for. Light fingers wrap tightly around Thor’s wrists and he dares to meet his brother’s eyes a second time.

“When I returned you to Asgard, one thing became very clear to me,” Thor says quietly.

A tear scalds Loki’s cheek and he closes his eyes, waiting for the next words. The words he has been waiting for since Jotunheim, since Laufey’s death, since everything.

“I imprisoned you and realized that I had broken a promise.”

Loki trembles, squeezing tight to Thor’s wrists and making quiet noises as he cries between his brother’s hands.

“I promised Jane I would return for her, I swore I would and I did not. Your foolishness took precedence.  I came to Midgard to return my brother home. To snap you out of this trance and have my Loki again. Instead I find this.” Thor gave him a firm shake. “I find this….this _demon_ instead. One who kills without thought or mercy.” Thor’s fingers curl painfully against his scalp and Loki releases a quiet sob wrought with anguish. “You will always be my brother, but you are also the son of Laufey. It is in your nature, your blood, to be evil.  I tried to help you, but you refused me. I know now my Loki is dead.”

Thor tosses him backward and Loki skitters across the smooth cavern floor, quaking. His fingers cover his ears and claw at his scalp. It isn’t true. It isn’t true. He tells himself a thousand times that this is a nightmare, that he will wake in his cell and all will be well. Thor will come to him and Loki will beg forgiveness. He swears to the gods that he will, just so long as this is an illusion, a falsity.

He opens his eyes and the world is blurred by tears, but then he sees his brother gently stroking the woman’s hair and murmuring soft words to her. Thor is hurt—not because Loki is sobbing, but because his brother has become a monster.

All the nightmares of Thor discovering his heritage were once thought to be ill dreams. But now Loki screams, desperately trying to ward away the echoes of Thor’s voice on the cavern walls. But he can’t. He never will and he knows it. He has crossed the line by miles and now he will never find his way back. Thor has built a wall he cannot climb.

Gradually he goes quiet. His eyes are dry of tears and he can only tremble and stammer incoherent words into the growing darkness. Some time in the night Thor rests a hand on his shoulder but Loki feels nothing. Everything Thor has to offer him is meaningless now.

He turns his head with a shaking, twisted smile. “I hate you,” he whispers, but can’t force himself to mean it.

“I know,” Thor says, looking down at him. “I have always known.”

This time, Loki has won. Thor has come to believe is greatest lie. But victory comes with the taste of blood in his mouth and a poison in his chest more potent than hate. In the back of Loki’s mind, a new voice rings low. _It will be better this way._

But even as he thinks it, a burning wetness tracks down his cheek. It will never be better. Nothing will even come close.


End file.
